


table read

by attheborder



Series: dearly departed cinematic universe (DDCU) [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Humorous Misconceptions, Sex Tape Quest, workplace politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:48:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23694157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/attheborder/pseuds/attheborder
Summary: Yasti breathed out a hiss of desire through her sharp teeth. She was a demon of Lust, and she was good at it, and by Lucifer’s left testicle, shedeserved to see these fucking sex tapes.
Series: dearly departed cinematic universe (DDCU) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1536880
Comments: 46
Kudos: 258





	table read

**Author's Note:**

  * For [racketghost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/racketghost/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Closed Set](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23320960) by [racketghost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/racketghost/pseuds/racketghost). 



> important note: this story takes place wholly within the universe of my dear friend Racket's bonkers incredible story Closed Set, hence the Canon Divergence tag - the events of Dearly Departed did not occur here, hence Yasti never having met Crowley.

Yasti had been working for Hastur for two thousand years, and he had always been awful, because this was hell, and he was a demon, but it had gotten _very_ bad in the weeks since the whole Armageddon debacle. 

She was positive that if she had to spend one more day prepping paperwork for his next Infernal Assembly meeting, all while sitting across from him in the office and having to endure grunts, groans, and endless whining about _that fucking snake_ and _that flash bastard,_ she’d absolutely snap, and probably end up reassigned to the Stygian Dump for the next five centuries, boredly forking desiccated corpses into the fetid, foaming river.

So when her desperate request to Demonic Resources for a new cubicle was returned to her with a glowing red stamp reading _APPROVED,_ she fell to her knees in relief, praising Satan, and then got up and corralled a few passing Erics into helping move all her shit over. 

The new space didn’t have all that much going for it. It was dark and damp and fetid, the rolly chair was broken, and the fluorescent lights flickered and buzzed just like they did back at the old spot. But Hastur wasn’t there, and though there was a cubicle next to hers, it was seemingly unoccupied, and Yasti reveled in the relative calm of it. 

“I’m going to be _so_ fucking productive,” she said to herself, with a grin. 

And she was— so much so that it took her a few weeks to find a moment, between rounds of errands and deadlines for her _Infernal Times_ column and the endless, constant picking up of her supervisor’s slack, to get even a little bit curious about her absent deskmate. 

But eventually she got around to a bit of mischief, as befitted a demon. She sifted through the detritus of the abandoned cubicle, turning up empty pens, bottles of congealed black nail polish, and dozens of loose, crumbly parma violets. 

And then, deep in a corner, below geological layers of unopened, mass-addressed interoffice memos and a flaking accretion of what looked to be packets of decades-old computer warranties, she found it. 

_It_ was a commendation—well, more specifically, it was the confirmation form for a commendation medal, which had never been signed, nor turned in, but was otherwise fully replete with background information on the award. 

At first Yasti couldn’t comprehend what she was reading. The text swam and distorted, and then finally resolved, as she came to terms with what was implied:

_Temptation of a Holy Principality._

She felt dizzy. A _demon?_ And an _angel?_ Together— _hard core? ..._ Impossible.

But then she saw the name. She read the infernal sigil three times over and then, just to confirm her eyes weren’t deceiving her, the list of aliases in a column to the right. _Crawly. Anthony Crowley. The Tempter of Eden. Ayin B’Nachash. “Big” Tony._

Obviously, she’d heard enough of the demon Crowley for a thousand infernal lifetimes. He was, in a way, the reason she had the new cubicle at all. And thanks to the Eric-driven office gossip network, she was vaguely aware that there was an angel in the picture as well. 

So, yes, now it was starting to make sense. Only a demon as wily and unpredictable as the Serpent himself could not only have come up with this perversion, but actually fucking pulled it off. 

Yasti could have been satisfied, knowing that it had happened at all. She could have reveled in the full-body shiver of a deep taboo, a new and impossible kink found and catalogued in her infinite internal library. 

But then she read on. And the commendation sheet went into detail. Specific detail. 

….There was _evidence._

Yasti breathed out a hiss of desire through her sharp teeth. She was a demon of Lust, and she was _good_ at it, and by Lucifer’s left testicle, she _deserved to see these fucking sex tapes._

The next time she squirmed her way through the seething masses of Hell’s hallways back down to Hastur’s office to deliver a stack of 84-Q’s to his inbox for approval, she was a demon with an agenda. She was going to march right in there and demand access to the Holy Grail of occult pornography. 

Or, well, that was what she’d _meant_ to do, but when she arrived at Hastur’s door it was securely shut, and she could hear the telltale strains of “Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now” filtering through.

There was a jittery-looking Eric lingering outside the office as well, wearing a courier’s jacket and clutching a manila folder covered in bureaucratic sigils. “Hey. How long have you been waiting for him?” she whispered, jabbing a finger at the door. 

Eric frowned. “Six hours? Seven, maybe?” He fiddled compulsively with the corner of the folder, which had clearly been worn away over a long and torturous day of being Eric. 

“Hmm. Yikes.” 

“Now that you’re here,” Eric said nervously, “maybe you could… let him know that I’m waiting?” 

“Why don’t you knock,” Yasti suggested sweetly, fluttering her lashes at him and raising a flirtatious eyebrow. He blushed, and nodded, and tentatively rapped on Hastur’s door. 

The music stopped; the door swung open, and Eric had barely walked through the threshold, saying, “Lord Hastur, I—” before he was completely and totally obliterated by a gush of hellfire.

His courier’s folder drifted sadly to the ground.

Yasti neatly brushed the Eric-ash off of her dress, and off of the top of her stack of forms, before stepping delicately over the folder and entering the office.

“Sir,” she said, and dropped the stack of forms in Hastur’s inbox with a _thump._ He didn’t even bother to look up at her, just nodded and grunted perfunctorily. 

She knew now was her cue to curtsy, and obediently back out of the room, and retreat to her cubicle and wait for the next paperwork drop-off and then get back to work. She _knew_ that. But she also _had_ to know… 

“You’re still here. Why are you still here?”

Yasti coughed politely. “So… the demon Crowley, sir—” 

Hastur slammed his hands on the table, pustulant face distorting on a scowl. “What about that _wretch?_ Are you going to declare your allegiance to those repellent rebels in the Tartarus Blocks, those disgusting Crawlers?” 

“No, of course not, sir, I’d never—!” 

“Well? What is it, then?” 

She blurted it out as fast as she could, “Well, well, sir, I, um, my new desk is next to his old one, and I saw something on it, just doing a bit of casual trespassing, and I saw that he _seduced an angel_ and that there are _tapes,_ and as that’s _well_ within my purview, sir, I wanted to requisition them for personal use, research and such, when you have a moment?”

There was silence for a moment, other than the drip-drip-drip of something phlegmatic from the ceiling onto the dirty floor. 

“...Yasti, you nasty little genius. That’s _it._ We’ll get those tapes from him. He’ll have to cough up, or— or— or we’ll discorporate him. Slowly. _Very slowly.”_ Hastur’s grin was wide and rotting and altogether painful-looking, which she knew that meant he was _very_ happy indeed.

“Oh,” she said, “I mean, if— I just wanted to know if you had them on hand, or knew where I could find them, but if you don’t—” 

Hastur was suddenly animated out of his torpor, practically launching himself out of his broken chair and striding up to Yasti.

“You’ll get your tapes, dearie, don't you worry,” he said, leering down at her, and she couldn’t help but feel a thrill of nervous excitement at the prospect, hardly dampened at all by the smell of his hot, foul breath on her face.

He began to pace the room, gesturing impatiently at Yasti. “I want all of the minutes from Crowley’s Demonic Reviews, past thirty years. Get memos to the Council, put an emergency session on the calendar for this afternoon— oh, and send a runner to Amy in Embodiment, we’ll need her to come down and put a stamp on the modifications…” 

“Yes, Lord Hastur,” she said, curtsying deeply. “Right away, sir.” Now was the time to suck up to him harder than ever. The last thing she wanted was for the Council to receive the tapes, on her tip, and then _not let her see them._

A demon and an angel. Together. _Hard core._ She could only imagine, which was too bad, since, like most demons, she wasn’t really the best at imagination. She needed to _see._ Even just one glimpse of Crowley, pure oily demonic menace, breaching the pale, trembling purity of that angel of his, would be enough to fuel her #girlboss workflow hustle for another thousand years. Every demonic nerve lit up in her body just thinking about it, pathways of lust-energy activating and sparking out the tips of her iridescent fingernails. 

There were ten hours of tapes, but how many times had they done it _not_ on camera? What sort of blackened depravities did the legendary, invincible, traitorous Crowley subject that sickly little Principality to? It was clear by what he’d done to avert Armageddon that he wasn’t bound by any traditional schemas of demonic responsibility, and that’s what made the prospect of getting her claws on those tapes so impossibly appealing. She could run through every fetish that had ever crossed her desk, and _still_ might not be able to predict what was at the core of the Serpent’s seduction. 

And she supposed, as she wandered triumphantly back to her new office, that if Crowley refused to give up the tapes, and he ended up down in the pits after all, she could always just go and ask him. 

He seemed like he might be fun to talk to. 

***

**Author's Note:**

> sorry for writing silly crossovers instead of an actual sequel to DD, I promise it's still percolating and will eventually emerge like a beautiful sexy flower in bloom! 
> 
> poke me on [tumblr](http://areyougonnabe.tumblr.com) or [twitter](http://twitter.com/areyougonnabe)


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